


you're mine to kill

by steelplatedhearts



Series: War Paint and Cyanide Pills [8]
Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelplatedhearts/pseuds/steelplatedhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're allowed to hurt each other, to crack ribs and draw blood, but god help anyone else that tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mangobug](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mangobug).



> Part of the giftmas thing I'm doing over on my tumblr!  
> Oh, and since the last story in this series I've done, the person behind [asoftermi6](http://asoftermi6.tumblr.com) has made this lovely[ graphic!](http://asoftermi6.tumblr.com/post/37281874114/skyfall-crossovers-done-right-raoul-silva)

Circulated throughout MI6 on December 12:

Found slipped under Agent 007’s door two days later:

Found stuck to the break room door with a hunting knife the next day:

Found rolled up and stuck in 007’s coffee cup an hour later:

Duct taped neatly to the front door the next morning:

*   *   *   *   *

“On the positive side,” Bond says, squinting up at what used to be his apartment and is now a fireball, “we now know where Shosanna is.”

“You just _had_ to shoot Silva, didn’t you?” Q says grumpily.

“He was trying to kill me!” Bond says, defensive. “Does nobody understand that concept?”

“Oh, we understand it,” Eve yawns. “We just don’t care, especially when we have to come deal with the aftermath at two in the morning.”

“She keeps setting my flat on fire,” Bond says. “Why does she keep setting my flat on fire? What is it with her and fire, anyway?”

“That’s like asking why a dog chases cars,” Q says, adjusting his glasses. “There’s no reason for it, it’s just what they _do_.”

“Did she say anything to you?” Eve asks.

“No. Just stared at me and held a torch to the curtains.”

“Which means she’s coming back for more later,” Eve concludes. “I’m going home. We’ll have to be at work early, I’m sure, so I’m going to get some sleep while I still can.”

Bond sighs. “I seem to have a bit of a housing problem,” he says, turning to Eve. “Might I be able to stay with you?”

She doesn’t even answer him, just laughs as she walks away. Bond turns to Q.

“Q—”

“No,” Q says firmly, crossing his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“I haven’t even asked yet,” Bond says, mildly bemused.

“Well, you have a maniac after you, and I have a very healthy sense of self-preservation,” Q says.

“I very specifically remember telling you to not cock it up, 007.”

Mallory doesn’t look happy, which doesn’t mean much—he very rarely looks happy.

“You say that before every mission,” Bond says, smirking. “You’ll forgive me if I stopped listening.”

“Q, take 007 home with you,” Mallory says. “Be in as early as you can, please. We’ll need all hands on deck until we can figure out how to call Dreyfus off.”

“Why don’t we just give her Bond?” Q asks sullenly. “Much safer for everyone.”

Mallory considers it. “If we have to, then we have to, I suppose.”

“Never mind my years of loyal service,” Bond says, indignant.

Mallory raises his eyebrow. “You really don’t want to open that can of worms, 007.” He turns to leave. “Get some rest.”

“Well, seeing as my flat just burned down, I think I should get the bed,” Bond says.

Q rolls his eyes. “You’ll be lucky if I give you the couch.”

*   *   *   *   *

They come in early, blinking sleep from their eyes and yawning up a storm. It takes Q about 20 minutes to upgrade the coffee machine to make stronger coffee, and he keeps muttering about “could have done it in _ten_ , if Bond didn’t bloody snore so much.”

After six hours or so, they have to conclude that Shosanna is gone again, and will reappear when they least expect it.

“You have to take him home with you,” Q begs Eve, interrupting her catnap. “I can’t take it, he snores all the time and at the slightest sound he’s up and waving a gun all over the place—quit _laughing,”_ he hisses. “It’s _stressful_.”

“Considering this is coming from the man who once locked himself in the lab to work out a bit of code and didn’t sleep for 29 hours, I don’t really have much sympathy,” Eve says. “Make him get a hotel, if it bothers you so much.”

“Why would I get a hotel?” Bond asks, appearing suddenly at the door. “Your couch is much more comfortable.”

“One of these days I’m going to send you out in the field with something that’ll blow up in your face,” Q retorts. “Then you’ll be sorry.”

*   *   *   *   *

The call comes in at three in the morning.

“Buckingham’s on fire,” Eve says. “And they can’t find the Queen.”

“She doesn’t think small, does she?” Bond says, grabbing his gun. “We’re on our way.”

Q heads to his labs and Bond heads to Buckingham Palace, where, as promised, it’s on fire. There’s a lot of people running around and panicking, and the Queen is nowhere to be found.

“Have you got anything for me, Q?” he asks.

“Not a bloody thing,” the voice in his ear says. “Wherever they are, she’s covered their tracks well.”

His phone rings. “Hang on a moment, Q, I’ve got a call incoming.” He holds the phone up to his ear. “Bond.”

“Good evening, Mr. Bond,” Shosanna says from the other end of the line, sounding amused. “Well—good morning, I suppose.”

“To you as well,” Bond says. “Might we have our monarch back?”

“Come and get her,” Shosanna says. “We’re at Q’s flat. Come alone.”

The line goes dead. “Q,” Bond says. “I’ve found them. Keep everyone off my tracks, I’m not sure what she’ll do.”

“Where are they?” Q asks.

“Your flat.”

Q is silent for a moment. “You know,” he sighs, “I really wish I could be surprised at that.”

“Does she hang out in your flat often?” Bond asks, heading towards the streets.

“More than you know,” Q grumbles.

*   *   *   *   *

When Bond enters the flat, Shosanna’s lounging on the couch, impressively attired in a long red dress, absentmindedly petting a small black kitten.

“I didn’t know Q had a cat,” is the only thing Bond can think to say.

Shosanna doesn’t look up. “Her name is Galore. I brought her because Raoul killed his last cat.” She turns her head to stare at him, raising an eyebrow. “He didn’t like that you two went out for drinks once. Raoul doesn’t really _share_ , you may have noticed.”

“So he killed a cat,” Bond says dryly.

“It was either that or kill Q,” Shosanna shrugs.

“Nice dress.”

“I’ve been informed that it’s traditional to wear your nicest outfits when meeting royalty,” she says. “Not to mention this was the dress I wore the first time I set a building on fire. It has…sentimental value.”

“Of course it does,” Bond mutters.

“Your Majesty,” Shosanna calls. “Your ride is here!”

“About time,” the Queen says, walking in from the other room.

Shosanna stands up, the kitten falling from her lap. She takes two quick steps and has Bond up against the wall with a knife at his back. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” she hisses. “If anyone is going to kill Raoul, it’s going to be _me._ Not you. Understand? I gave you your precious Queen back this time. Next time, I will not be so generous.”

“Got it,” Bond says, voice muffled.

When the pressure eases up and he turns around, she’s gone.

“Shouldn’t you be arresting her?” the Queen asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I would love to,” Bond says, “but that wouldn’t lead anywhere good.”

“You’re just going to let her go?”

Bond shrugs. “It’s safer that way.”

She purses her lips. “I’m not sure I approve, Mr. Bond.”

“To be frank, your Majesty,” he says, holding the door open for her, “nobody approves.”

*   *   *   *   *

“ _Salaud,”_ Shosanna calls, opening the door. “I brought you some soup.”

“It’s about time,” Raoul grumbles. “I thought you’d abandoned me.”

“I would have, if I’d had any sense,” Shosanna says.

“But you came back,” he says, struggling to sit up. “You love me, don’t you, _ratita_?”

“ _No_ ,” she growls. “I’ve reserved the right to kill you, and I’ll be damned if _Bond_ finishes you off first.”

He laughs, wincing. “Always, you’re jealous of James, darling.”

“For the last time,” she snaps, placing the bowl of soup on the end table, “I am not _jealous_. That would require me to care about you, which I do not.”

“Well, how about this: you sit here with me while I eat my soup and watch stupid television programs and we can _pretend_ that you care for a while. Hm?”

Shosanna perches on the bed next to Raoul and hands him his soup. “You know the only reason I’m not hurting you right now is because you’re already injured, right?”

“Of course,” Raoul says. “I would expect nothing less.”

He falls asleep on her shoulder half an hour later.

She doesn't push him off.


	2. Chapter 2

The proximity sensor beeps right as Q’s having his first cup of coffee. He sighs, then dials Eve’s extension.

“Gareth Mallory’s office,” she says, cool and professional.

“The trouble twins are incoming,” he says.

She groans. “I’ll send out the alert.”

Q is ridiculously proud of the alert system he’d installed after the second Bond-snogging field trip. One press of a button, and a message would be sent to everyone’s cellphone and computer, telling them that there was a situation, which entrance the two were coming from, and where Bond was so they could give proper directions without getting shot. A personalized alert is sent to Bond to remind him to _stay put_ or else.

(Once, Bond used the alert system to evade Silva for a good hour and a half. Three agents ended up in the hospital. It probably would have been more, but Q suspects that Silva rather enjoyed the chase.)

His phone buzzes.

_I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS_

_I HAVE TO BE AT THE AIRPORT IN THREE HOURS_

_I DON’T WANT TO DEAL WITH THEM_

Q rolls his eyes and texts back.

_Well, what do you want me to do about it?_

The response is quick.

_GET UP HERE AND HELP ME._

Q sighs, grabbing his coffee as he heads upstairs. “I don’t know what you expect me to accomplish,” he says to Bond, who’s pacing the area outside Mallory’s office like a caged tiger.

“Distract,” he says. “Say something vaguely technological and Silva will get sidetracked, or just _exist_ and Shosanna will yell at you to eat something or go take a nap.”

“While you do what, jump out the window?” Q says, irritated. “You’ll just have to get rid of them as quick as you can.”

“If you didn’t intend to help, why did you even come up here?”

“Because your pain amuses me,” Q says, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s almost better than cable.”

“It’s true,” Eve says over Bond’s indignant noises. “It’s why I keep popcorn in the snack drawer.”

“Hello, James!” Silva says cheerfully on his way through the door. “It’s been too long.”

Q turns, sees Silva half-carrying Shosanna, and keeps on turning. “It’s going to be one of _those_ visits, I see.”

“ _Those_ visits?” Silva asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s always more dramatic when you’re both here,” Eve explains.

“No drama,” Silva promises, hand over his heart.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Mallory says, sticking his head out from his office. “Can you make this quick?”

“I just came for a favor,” he says, carefully placing Shosanna in a chair. She slumps over, barely conscious.

“ _Sortez-le d'ici_ ,” she growls, staring at Bond. “ _Il est stupide et je ne l'aime pas_.”

“Is she all right?” Bond asks.

“She’s on rather a lot of painkillers, I’m afraid,” Silva says. “Which is why I’m here. I need someplace safe for her to stay for a little while, and I hoped I could leave her with you.”

Bond laughs, then sees Silva’s expression and sobers up. “What—no, you can’t just leave her here.”

“I have to leave her somewhere,” Silva says. “I can’t just drop her off on the side of the road—someone has to make sure she’s all right.”

“Fairly certain she can do that for herself,” Q says, eyeing Shosanna warily over his coffee cup.

“Not with _these_ painkillers,” Silva says.

“And where exactly are you going that you can’t take her with you?” Mallory asks, folding his arms.

Silva grimaces. “Let’s just say—I’m going after some very bad men.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that,” Mallory says, face stern.

“Fine,” Silva sighs. “There are a lot of people who don’t like Shosanna.”

“ _Really_?” Q says, shocked. “See, that’s odd, because she has such a kind heart and wonderful personality.”

Silva ignores him. “She was taken a few weeks ago by some of these people. They knew her from her childhood, I believe.” His eyes go dark, shuttered. “I almost didn’t reach her in time. I’m going to go find these men and make sure they will not take her from me again.”

An awkward silence falls, and Mallory finally breaks it with a cough. “Fine. Someone here’ll take care of her.”

“Good,” Silva says. He takes a small bottle of pills out of his pocket and hands them to Bond. “Make sure she takes one of these every 12 hours. Be good, darling,” he says to Shosanna, kissing her forehead.

“Huh! _Good,_ ” she says, giggling. “Sounds boring.”

And then Silva is gone, leaving the four MI6 agents with a drugged Shosanna.

“I have never been so happy to have a plane to catch in my life,” Bond says, placing the bottle of the pills on the table. “Good luck with her.”

And he slips out of the room before anyone can stop him.

“As the boss, I have to know when to delegate,” Mallory says. “Now seems like the perfect time. So this is me, delegating. Take care of this.”

He slams the door. Q and Eve exchange glances.

“I can fuck up your computer,” Q says.

“I can break your arm,” Eve says, raising an eyebrow.

Which is how Q ends up dragging a small sofa into his offices for Shosanna to lay on.

“When was the last time you ate?” Shosanna asks absently, eyes slightly crossed. “One day you’re going to wake up dead because you never feed yourself.”

It’s going to be a very long day.

*   *   *   *   *

“I was in love, once,” Shosanna says around noon. “He was a good man. A very good man. Better than you, certainly.”

Q doesn’t know how to respond to that, but she doesn’t really seem to be talking to him.

“And he loved me,” she says, smiling at the memory. “He set fires for me. When was the last time you set a fire for me?”

“Never,” Q says, “because I’m not Silva and I don’t set fires, generally.”

She ignores him, which is fine, because he’s now positive that she’s not talking to him.

“He’s beautiful and lovely and _dead_ ,” Shosanna says, sniffling. “How is that fair?”

Q doesn’t have an answer for her, and anyway the whole thing is making him uncomfortable. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to hear about Shosanna’s beautiful dead boyfriend, or about how she taught her dead baby brother how to catch, or how she used to practice braiding on her now-dead mother’s hair, or anything else about the plethora of dead people she used to know.

It’s bizarre, learning about who she was before she became a blood-drenched killer, and Q isn’t really sure he likes it. She hasn’t given any indication of what happened to turn her into who she is now (besides the fact that she seems to leave a trail of dead people) and he’s really hoping that she falls asleep before she gets to that point in her reminiscing.

Whatever made her _her_ , he doesn’t want to hear about it.

So he goes back to his code and tries to tune her out. But her presence is hard to ignore when his entire staff keeps staring at her and she keeps talking to herself or to Silva or to this Marcel person.

She falls asleep around 2:30, and he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief and slump against his desk.

“How’s she doing?” Eve asks, poking her head through the door and waving a paper cup. “I brought a peace offering.”

It turns out to be Earl Grey made only the way Eve can make it, with just the right amount of sugar and a splash of milk and just the barest hint of honey. He takes the cup gratefully.

“She’s not doing great,” he says, taking a slow sip. “She won’t stop _talking.”_

“What about?” Eve says, leaning against the desk beside him.

“Everything,” Q answers. “Her life, mostly, which translates into Dead People I Have Known.”

“Well, that’s good,” Eve says.

Q wrinkles his nose. “How is that good? It’s disturbing, is what it is.”

“It means she’s in a talkative mood,” Eve says. “Mallory wants you to do some digging on who exactly Silva’s going after. There’s always the possibility that whoever it is might actually be on the right side of the law.”

 “Seeing as they’re criminals,” Q concludes. “I’ll talk to her when she’s more lucid.”

“You gonna need a ride home, or do you think you can get her on the tube yourself?”

Q contemplates Shosanna, who’s sprawled out on the mini-sofa. “A ride would be great.”

*   *   *   *   *

By 9 pm, Shosanna’s been transferred to his couch and has spent the last two hours in a deep sleep. Q’s perched on the nearby ottoman, picking at a shitty TV dinner and counting the minutes until he has to wake up Shosanna and give her more painkillers.

He goes to the kitchen, makes himself some cocoa, and when he comes back, Shosanna is gone.

Silva is going to kill him.

“Shosanna?” Q calls, hands automatically going up. “It’s me, it’s Q, please come out. And please don’t kill me.”

“Give me a reason not to,” she growls in his ear, pressing a knife against his throat.

“Because I’m betting you’ve got about thirty seconds before your legs give out,” he says. “And you’re going to want to be sitting down when that happens. Look—go back to the couch and I’ll bring you some painkillers.”

She stumbles over to the couch, furious. “What the hell is going on?”

“How much do you remember?” Q says cautiously, handing her a glass of water and the pills.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. How much do you know?”

“That Silva showed up this morning asking us to look out for you while he finds whoever did this to you,” Q says. “You’ve been babbling all morning about your family, by the way.”

She presses her lips together and looks away.

“Look,” he says quietly. “They want me to find out who did this to you. Just—just in case there’s something we can do.”

She swallows the pills, slower than necessary. “His name is the Jew Hunter,” she says, flatly. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

*   *   *   *   *

“I haven’t been able to find anything about anyone called the Jew Hunter,” Eve says three days later, voice low as she glances over her shoulder at Shosanna.

“You’re sure?” Q asks, voice equally quiet.

Eve nods. “Positive.”

Q’s computer beeps. “Silva’s here,” he says, sending out the alert.

“It only took him three days,” Eve says. “I’m impressed.”

“Good morning, MI6!”

“Hello, Silva,” Q says, going back to his laptop. “Shosanna’s on the couch.”

“ _Ratita,”_ he says, shaking Shosanna gently awake. “Darling, wake up!”

Shosanna stirs, blinks for a moment, and then promptly punches Silva in the face.

“ _Salaud_ ,” she snarls, flopping back onto the couch. “How _dare you._ ”

“Relax, darling,” he says, helping her into a standing position. “I saved Landa for you.”

_That_ placates her.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Silva says as they head towards the door. “We’ll stop by when James comes home!”

And they’re gone again.

“Well, we have a name now,” Eve says thoughtfully. “Landa.”

“You know what,” Q says, staring after them. “I would just drop it.”

*   *   *   *   *

“Do you remember me, Mr. Landa?”

Shosanna is standing on her own, but just barely. Raoul offered to help hold her up, but she refused. She is not going to appear weak in front of the Jew Hunter.

(Raoul is hovering about hesitantly, and she would yell at him if she wasn’t so focused—and if it wasn’t almost endearing.)

“Mademoiselle Mimieux,” he says, attempting a charming smile. “I haven’t seen you since the theater fire.”

“It’s not Mimieux,” she snarls. “It’s Dreyfus. Shosanna Dreyfus.”

Recognition starts to dawn in his eyes. “Ah, yes. I killed your family, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she growls, grabbing her bat. “And now I’m going to kill you.”

*   *   *   *   *

She collapses soon after, unable to hold herself up any more. Raoul picks her back up, washes her off, puts her into sweatpants, tucks her into bed. She clings to him like a life raft, half asleep already, and he smiles as he kicks off his shoes and slides in next to her.

This is how it should be: some bludgeoning people to death, a little bit of dealing with MI6, and Shosanna by his side.

The world would be nice, would be wonderful. But if this is all he has—

It is enough.


End file.
